Overtime
by KremKid Katalogue
Summary: Harry Osborn arrives home late from a study session and is prepared for a lecture from his father, but Norman Osborn isn't home yet. As the hour grows late, Harry can't help wondering what's keeping his dad - and since the Green Goblin has been showing up more often, he can't help worrying either. -Comic-verse, two-shot, set between ASM #23 and #24-
1. Chapter 1

**Note: This is set sometime between ASM #23 (The Goblin and the Gangsters) and #24 (Spider-Man Goes MAD!) Hence why Harry is still in high school.  
**

**Disclaimer: No, I have never read Untold Tales of Spider-Man. But I kinda want to.**

* * *

**Part One**

Harry thanked the cabbie as he closed the door of the taxi and walked toward the front gates of the mansion. At least one thing went right for him today, he thought. In fact, he was almost thankful that his father had counted on Harry having to take a cab home and had provided him with the necessary cash.

But then there was the thought of what his father's reaction would be when he saw how late Harry was getting home. The teenager shuddered at the thought as the gates opened for him. No doubt he would have been worried sick, had probably already had dinner – it was going on six o'clock after all – and now Harry would have to be punished for his tardiness. Never mind the fact that he'd been at a mandatory help session (about which Harry had been too embarrassed to inform his father of). Still – Harry felt that this wasn't right. He was starting to dread even seeing his father, as the sight of him typically warranted a lecture about how worthless he was and how he had no business being so weak and helpless.

_Might as well get this over with,_ Harry thought, bracing himself as he knocked thrice on the oak front doors of the Osborn estate.

Presently the door was opened by the Osborns' kindly butler, Bernard Houseman, who greeted the high school student warmly: "Rather late to be getting home, Master Harry."

Harry smiled in spite of himself as he stepped inside. "I had a study session to go to – still need to get my Science grades up," he explained.

"That is all very well," the butler replied, closing the door behind his young master. "After all, Mr. Osborn wishes for you to succeed."

"Where _is_ Dad?"

"Oh, your father hasn't arrived home yet, sir."

Harry did a double-take. "He hasn't?"

"I'm afraid not," replied Houseman. "He left a message for you on the machine."

At that, Harry strolled into the sitting room, threw his book bag unceremoniously onto the couch, and made his way over to the answering machine, where – indeed – a blinking red light told him that someone had called the house when no one had been at home. Confused and somewhat nervous, he pressed a button and listened as a broken, emotionless monotone announced:

"_Two__ – __new__ – __messages.__"_

_Two messages?_ Just as Harry began to dimly wonder what the other message could be about, he heard his father's voice issue from the speakers.

"_Hey, Harry. It's Dad. Sorry I couldn't pick you up today – hope you got home safely. Anyway, I'm just calling to let you know I'm working late again tonight, so go ahead and get out the phone book and order yourself some take-out. There should be money in the kitchen cabinet. Don't bother waiting up for me, I probably won't be home in time for dinner. You be sure to do your homework, okay? I'll call again when I'm leaving. See you later tonight. 'Bye."_

A dull click.

"_Wednesday__ – __three__ – __forty-six__ – __P.M.__,"_ the machine rattled off.

_Maybe he's on his way home now,_ Harry thought as a flat _beeeep_ signaled the start of the other message. _Maybe he's already called to say he's leaving._

However, the youth was quite taken aback when a very different voice burst from the speakers.

"_**Osborn, where are you!?"**_ Harry recognized the distinctive (and demanding) voice of the _Daily Bugle_ editor, J. Jonah Jameson. _"I set up this meeting specially to show off __**you**__ and __**your company**__ and __**you're not here!**__ You're taking advantage of me because I'm so __**generous, I know it!**__ You'd __**better**__ have a good __**excuse, **__Norman! Oh, and this is Jonah, by the way. Give me a call."_

Click.

"_Wednesday__ – __five__ – __fifty-one__ – __P.M.__" Beeeep. "__End of final message.__"_

Harry contemplated the machine, brow furrowed. If his father hadn't been able to make it to his club meeting, he must really be piled up with work. But he had always made time for his club... Had something prevented him from calling? Harry had heard recent reports about an alleged plot to stir up the rackets brewing in the works. Not to mention there were still constant sightings of Spider-Man – and now, increasingly frequent ones of the Green Goblin. He couldn't imagine what any of those people could possibly want with his father, but he certainly wouldn't put anything past them, particularly the Goblin. If Jameson's news stories were true, that character had gone toe-to-toe with the Human Torch – and _won_ with apparently minimal effort. Harry didn't like the thought of his father being out so late while people like _that_ stalked the city at night.

Still...

"Houseman, do you know where the phone book is?"

The rest of Harry's evening passed in solitude. He called a pizza delivery service, finished off the milk, and got most of his homework done – everything he knew he could do, at any rate – all with an inexplicable feeling of ease. He somehow felt more comfortable without his father around and almost wanted to not see him at all that night. He didn't have to tell him about his help session, listen to his bugging for Harry to get his grades up, or hear about how awful his day was and how bad a mood he was in. Harry could relax again.

Even so, as the hours ticked by without another call, Harry couldn't help wondering what was keeping his father. Osborn Industries' CEO had never been out this late before. Harry certainly hoped the thought he'd briefly entertained earlier about Spider-Man or the Goblin hadn't come to pass.

Finally, when the hour grew late, Harry once again approached his butler.

"Any sign of Dad yet?" he inquired.

Houseman shook his head. "No, Master Harry, your father still hasn't arrived home yet."

Harry frowned. Now he was genuinely getting worried: It was almost eleven. Something must have prevented his father from calling or he wouldn't have been so late. If something had happened to him...

Houseman put a reassuring hand on Harry's shoulder as though he had read the boy's thoughts and told him, "Don't fret, young master. Your father is capable of fending for himself. You will see him in the morning, I am sure."

"Well..." Harry was uncertain. He so wanted to believe the butler. After all, he wasn't the best of fathers, but Norman Osborn was still the only family Harry had ever known. He was still Harry's dad.

"...at any rate," Harry finally answered, "when he does get back, could you tell him there's pizza in the fridge? Also we're out of milk."

"Of course, Master Harry," replied Houseman. "Now, you'd best get to bed. You want to be well-rested for tomorrow."

Tired but no less troubled, Harry complied and bid the butler good night as he went upstairs.

_Poor Dad,_ he thought as he crawled under his covers. _He always works so hard. We hardly ever have any time together anymore. I know he's busy and...not always happy to see me...but...I don't know what I'd do if I ever lost him. I hope he's alright. I hope he gets home soon._

Sleep came to the upset teenager much sooner than he ever would have expected and quickly took its hold on him.

Just over thirty minutes later, the phone rang downstairs.

* * *

**[A/N:  
**

**My Brain: Hannah. What are you doing. This is not what you should be working on.  
Me: But the Osborns make me depressed. *writes fic*  
**

**So, a few months ago, I was reading thru my Marvel Masterworks, and I have to admit, I get a little heartbroken when I think of the relationship between Harry and Norman going on nowadays since I have now borne witness to (part of) a period in comics history when Norman genuinely cared for his kid. They were never a perfect or ideal family, but they loved each other as father and son. How did we get from a time when the sight of Harry overdosed in a hospital bed was enough to _drive Norman to tears_ to a time when Norman has no problem _staging his son's murder_****_ for public sympathy? HOW?!_  
**

**So I wrote this. I think I got the idea in either October or November and started writing, then I let it fester for a while and got back to work on it in December. I finished it in time to give a copy to a friend of mine as a Christmas present (and by "in time," I really mean "just before we went back to school in January") with the intent of posting it here later, then I forgot about it until now. Originally it was a one-shot, but it had to be split into two parts due to being eight pages long by itself.  
**

**I hope you've enjoyed it so far. If you have, go on to Part Two. If not, maybe Part Two will change your mind. Either way, please leave me a review. My email's lookin' pretty empty now that I have a laptop.  
**

**(I also now realize that there's no real reason Houseman can't answer the phone. Pretend he's doing chores or something.)  
**

**See ya!]  
**


	2. Chapter 2

**[A/N: Norman is hard to write. I was going for the feel of the Silver Age Goblin since the source stories are from that period. And because I'm more familiar with Silver Age Goblin.**

**And yes, I am aware that cell phones weren't commercially available in the Sixties. (I lucked out on the answering machine.) Just bear with me.]**

* * *

**Part Two**

"_Hello. You have reached the Osborn residence. I'm sorry, but no one is available to take your call at this time. Please leave a message at the tone, and we will get back to you as soon as possible. Thank you."_

It was disconcerting to say the least to hear his own voice on the other end of the line instead of his son's, but, puzzled and slightly worried, Norman answered at the _beeeep_ nonetheless.

"Hi, Harry. It's me again. Sorry I'm so late. I hope you got plenty to eat and got all your homework done. I'm coming home now. I'll see you soon. 'Bye."

He stared at the phone in his hand as though hoping Harry would pick up at the last minute before reluctantly hanging up. Brow furrowed, he contemplated the device.

Had he just missed Harry? Was it by a mere act of situational irony that his son hadn't answered? He had shrugged off the first instance as possible difficulties in getting a cab – and, admittedly, he had only called this time to reassure the younger Osborn – but Harry definitely should have gotten home by now... Had something prevented the teenager's arrival at the mansion?

Quit worrying, a voice in his head told him. The kid's fine, he's an Osborn, he can take care of himself, it said.

Norman liked that idea. He did have other things to worry about besides Harry. Namely, he still hadn't found a decent gang to tackle. He had far too much ground left to cover – especially since the Lucky Lobo fiasco put him at a disadvantage. He had definitely made some progress in that night's search – specifically, he had found out about a promising individual going around calling himself "the Crime-Master" – but that alone had taken most of the evening. And anyway, Norman still had quite a way to go before he was ready to approach the besides that, he still had Frederick Foswell to worry about. He didn't like that Jonah had rehired the ex-con when it first happened and he didn't like it now. He was growing impatient. He needed to act soon.

He looked back at the phone, frowning. _Harry's my only child, though, _he thought._ Spineless though he may be, he's still my son. I should stop at home and at least check on him. __**But...**__ I could still get something done tonight. I should be able to see if I can't get some dirt on the Crime-Master. __**But...**_

Norman thought about this. He didn't have to go home right away. After all, he still had a lot of work to do and not much time left to do it.

Then again, he was also sitting on someone's roof and had absolutely no idea what time it was.

He studied the phone one last time before shoving it into his Bag of Tricks, his mind made up. _I really __**should**__ go home,_ he thought as he pulled his grotesque latex mask back over his face. _Tomorrow's another day. I still have __**some**__ time. Harry's probably expecting me back any minute. Plus, I also have a real job to go to in the morning, and no matter what, I can't let the Green Goblin's criminal exploits ruin my business career._

_Besides,_ he reasoned, stepping onto and starting up his Goblin Glider once more, _what's really more important – my criminal campaign, or my flesh and blood?_

As he sped over the rooftops toward Westchester, however, he found that that question left him at an immensely uncomfortable truth.

_That's just the problem. I can't decide._

* * *

Several minutes later, the Green Goblin had flown, unnoticed, over the wall surrounding the Osborn estate and stopped to hover outside Norman Osborn's bedroom window before easing it open and casually flying inside. Quickly, he quieted his Glider so as not to disturb the mansion's residents, stepped off of the device, and picked up a clock on the bedside table.

It read eleven forty-eight.

Norman distinctly felt color rise in his cheeks underneath the green of his mask as something remarkably like embarrassment sank in his stomach.

_Was I really out for __**that**__ long?_ he wondered, dumbfounded. No wonder Harry didn't pick up the second time: He should have been in bed by now. Still – eight hours – that must have been some kind of record.

_Well, that's the second phone call solved,_ he thought. _...but why didn't Harry pick up the first time, then? My first call was around the time when he was just getting out of school. Regardless of my apparent inability to keep track of time, he should have answered the first call. He should have been home. Unless someone thought to abduct him and use him against Osborn Industries...or if...someone figured out Norman Osborn's connection to the Green Goblin – oh, Harry, you'd better be in bed!_

Quick and silent as a wraith, the costumed supercriminal put the clock back on its table, vaulted over his bed, and jogged out of his room and down a flight of stairs, skidding to a halt in front of the closed door that led to his son's room, heart pounding.

"Please be in bed, please be in bed," he chanted whisperingly, slowly turning the doorknob and pushing the door inward. He was almost afraid to look, afraid to see that his son might be gone...

...pleasantly surprised to see a familiar head of reddish-brown waves on Harry's pillow.

"Oh, thank God." The older Osborn put a hand to his face as he heaved a sigh of relief and unthinkingly strolled over to his son's bed. He looked up again when Harry groaned in his sleep and turned onto his back. Norman smiled at the teenager, turned, and sat down on the bed. He then leaned over and extended a hand to pet his child affectionately on the head. Harry gave no indication of notice except to mumble sleepily, but that suited his father just fine.

"Sorry I'm so late getting home," Norman whispered lamely. "I would have gotten back sooner. I lost track of time...but where were you? I thought you'd have been home when I called. It was only around four, wasn't it?"

He paused, taking in his son's peaceful face, before smiling again. "I guess that doesn't matter," he continued. "The important thing is that you're home, you're safe, and I can stop worrying about you for now."

As he whispered these things, he realized that he really didn't spend much time with Harry anymore. Being the Green Goblin was starting to take up almost all of his time. Now that he thought about it, he could barely even remember the last time he had spent a whole work day at the office – or any day in the past year when he hadn't donned his green spandex at least once, for that matter. In fact, Norman hadn't been able to spend very much time with his son even _before_ he became the Green Goblin. Back then, his work really _had_ eaten up most of his time. After all, Osborn Industries' CEO wanted the two of them to be able to live comfortably, and he had needed to work strenuously to accomplish that. He'd bought Harry gifts in an attempt to make up for it then, but now – now that he was the Goblin – he was no longer bothering. He wasn't even working half the time. He had no such excuse. The Goblin was almost _distracting_ him from his "normal life."

As he thought of this, something else occurred to the masked man. Harry might not have been the son he'd wanted – sometimes he really _did_ think gaining Harry wasn't worth losing Emily – but again the fact remained that Harry was his flesh and blood, and if need be, a possible heir to the Goblin legacy. This was a dim idea he'd had for a while, but he'd never really thought about it that much.

The younger Osborn snorted in his sleep. Norman looked back at him again, thinking.

_...No. Not yet. I can't force that on a child. The kid's just a teenager. Even Spider-Man must know that a teen couldn't handle that kind of power – he's friends with the Human Torch, of course he'd know!_

Spider-Man. That costumed figure was almost seeing more of Norman than Harry was. Now that the wall-crawler had made a comeback, he was getting dangerous to the Goblin's plans again. Of course Norman had to be careful – and perhaps he'd been lucky that Spider-Man hadn't appeared earlier tonight–

Harry groaned, pulling his father's thoughts away from Spider-Man. The older Osborn quickly withdrew his hand from the teenager's head as his son turned in his sleep once more, now facing the open door.

Exasperated, Norman rubbed his temples. This was no time to think of Spider-Man. It was going on midnight, and he had to go to work in the morning. Now was the time to go back upstairs and go to sleep.

So thinking, he stood up from the bed and made for the door, but stopped when he heard Harry mumble something. He turned, and, sure enough, the kid was still asleep.

_Harry hasn't seen me at all today, though,_ thought Norman. _He might've been worried about me. And I'm still curious as to why he didn't answer my first call..._

_I'll do it,_ he decided. _I'm going to talk to him._

With that, he strode back toward Harry's bedside table and reached forward to turn on his lamp.

As he did so, however, he suddenly became aware of the purple glove on his hand – the green scales going all up his arm.

Startled, Norman recoiled, nearly jumping all the way back to the door, gripping his wrist as though his hand had been burned. _**That**__ was close!_ he mentally exclaimed. _How did I forget I was still in my Goblin costume? Another second and I would have exposed my identity to the __**last**__ person I want finding out!_

He couldn't talk to Harry now – not like this. Besides, he needed to go to bed, too. He'd have to wait until morning to ask his son about that phone call.

Still...

Norman released his hold on his wrist and cautiously made his way back to the bed. Smiling, he knelt down and extended a hand to once again pet his child's head.

"Good night, Harry," he whispered. "I love you. Don't ever forget that. I'll see you in the morning."

With that, the older Osborn finally took his leave, closing the door behind him. He silently walked back up to his bedroom and closed his own door – and window. Norman then proceeded to remove his Goblin costume – tucking it, his Goblin Glider, and his Bag of Tricks in the secret compartment in the back of his closet – and change into sleepwear. As he did so, he mulled over how being the Goblin affected his family life.

_I have to keep my priorities straight. Between work and my impending criminal empire, I just don't have time for Harry anymore. I do love Harry – I really do. He's my only child. And that's why I can't let him know my secret. Maybe it would be easier for both of us if he knew, but there's just no gain in burdening him with my secret. Besides, I don't think I want to know what he'd think of me for it._

_Maybe I should just quit being the Goblin,_ he considered, getting into bed. _It might make life a lot simpler for both of us if I did. Ah, if it only it were that simple! I couldn't give up being the Goblin any more than I could give up being Harry's father. Who am __**I**__ trying to kid?_

At that final thought, Norman relaxed and prepared to drop off to sleep, confident, secure, and overall deciding that it had been an okay day after all.

Until he remembered that he _drove_ to work that morning.

And (he realized, clapping a hand over his face) he needed to drop Harry off at school in just a few hours.

"Maybe this costumed supervillain business really _isn't_ for me," he grumbled, getting up to once again don his green spandex. It promised to be a long night.

* * *

**END**

**[A/N: And that's all! I really wanted to do this because I felt like Harry and Norman really needed some healthy, feel-good fluff to brighten up their astoundingly dysfunctional lives. I hope it had a therapeutic an effect on everyone who read it as it did on me!  
**

***slinks back into obscurity*  
**

**-KK]  
**


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